


Acts of Desperation

by orphan_account



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mind Control, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oviposition, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roughness, Semi-Public Sex, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6916468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. It was never a secret that the boy wasn't human. They didn't talk about it – there wasn't really much to say, aside from whispered speculation about what he actually was, and that didn't do anybody much good, did it? Still, the questions lingered, the spoken and the unspoken – what was he, and where was he from?</p><p>Roy Mustang doesn't worry about the questions. The answers he's already got are intoxicating enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for RoyEd Day 2016 as a present for Viovayo! Warning, this is pure smut. It's dirty, kinky, smut and it's gonna jump a whole new level of weird in the second part.
> 
> Also, mild spoiler – Ed isn't actually fifteen in this. He appears as such, and as far as Mustang's concerned he is, but he isn't actually, so... that may affect people's comfort level?
> 
> TW for smut, dubcon/rough sex, implied mind control, underage/perceived underage attraction
> 
> Ovi/nonhuman smut in later chapters.

It was never a secret that the boy wasn't human. They didn't _talk_ about it – there wasn't really much to say, aside from whispered speculation about what he actually _was,_ and that didn't do anybody much good, did it? It was just something about the way he moved, the intense way he'd stare at you, either unable or refusing to speak... and, of course, his eyes. Gold, shifting, opal-pupiled eyes.

Still, the questions lingered, the spoken and the unspoken – what was he, and where was he from?

* * *

The boy stood in front of him, bouncing on the balls of his feet with a nervous energy. Mustang smiled, flipping through the report he'd been handed.

“You can go in a minute. I'm not done reading.”

The expressive face twisted into a pout, and Mustang chuckled. He seemed ready to stomp his foot in frustration. “Sit down. You're not in any rush.”

The boy raised an eyebrow at that, then threw himself onto the leather couch. The hairs on the back of Mustang's neck bristled a little – sometimes the way the boy _moved_ was wrong.

Mustang ducked his head back down into the report, head suddenly swimming. Every time the boy – _Fullmetal,_ he reminded himself, although nobody ever seemed to use his title or even his name – went away on a mission, he managed to forget. The attraction wasn't nearly so forceful or intimidating when he wasn't there – hell, he could almost convince himself it was a trick of the light in photographs – but when the boy was in the room with him, he could feel it rising in him like a wild heat, or a madness.

He took a deep breath. He was on the last page of the report, although he'd stopped paying attention. Instead, his eyes wandered over to the boy, who was unblinkingly staring back at him. 

“Stop that,” he murmured, almost by accident.

A questioning look.

“You're not blinking.” It sounded so stupid out loud.

The boy paused, then blinked. He offered Mustang a thumbs-up.

It was so inanely bizarre, so out-of-sorts. He'd gotten so used to it. “Please tell me you remember to _blink_ when you're talking t- er, interacting with people.” There was a scent in the air – _his_ scent, Mustang was starting to realize, although it felt unbelievably animalistic to identify it as such. Still, it was recognizable.

He cocked his head, scratched his chin, then shrugged with an entirely innocent grin. Mustang rolled his eyes, then set the report down. “Alright, I'm done. Seems like a standard mission, nobody dead, minimal property damage -” He eyed the boy at that, and his guilty flinch. “...What did you break?”

The boy shook his head stubbornly, a flush rising to his cheeks. For a moment, Mustang thought he might say something, but instead, his lips stayed stubbornly pursed. His eyes flickered down to the boy's exposed throat, but as usual, he couldn't find any trace of a scar or wound. He didn't know why he kept checking.

“Well, if I get a phone call about some mysteriously destroyed bar that didn't show up on the report, you and I will be having a chat.” Mustang met the boy's eyes again, and the heat reared up in his stomach like a wild animal. He didn't even know how old the boy really was. His file said fifteen, but that _couldn't_ be right – he looked twelve, but he moved like someone (something?) far older. And his eyes weren't young enough.

The boy uncoiled himself from the couch, tank-top rising and giving Mustang a glimpse of tanned skin between shirt and leather pants. He headed for the door, and Mustang found himself rising from his seat, wanting to stop him, wanting – _something –_ oh _hell_ he knew _exactly_ what he wanted -

“Edward,” he said, finally, and it came out in a breathy half-question that made him wince to hear from his own mouth.

The boy glanced up at that like he'd been stung. It hadn't occurred to Mustang how rarely he heard his own name – nobody seemed to like using it. He wasn't completely at a loss why, either. It felt like molasses on his tongue, sweet and sickly and altogether just as unnatural as the boy himself. Since it was a perfectly normal name, however, he had no explanation.

He couldn't figure out what he was supposed to say next. “...Come in tomorrow. I'll have another mission for you.”

The boy blinked again (on purpose this time; he could tell) then grinned. There was a sparkle in his faceted eyes, and Mustang began to wonder if the boy knew the effect he had on him. Then the door closed, he was gone, and the colonel was alone with his intrusive, extremely unwelcome thoughts.

* * *

He startled awake at midnight, sweat pouring down his cheeks, his cock pulsing between his legs like he'd been dreaming out a fantasy. He hadn't – he'd never been prone to those, even when he was a teenager – but he thought perhaps this was what it felt like. The boy's face wouldn't leave his mind. He'd spent so much time staring at the curve of his throat searching for marks that now he could bring it to mind instantly -

Another storm of heat filled him, and he rolled over, digging his teeth into his pillow as his hand darted downwards, squeezing so hard that the pain almost overwhelmed the arousal – almost. He was so hard he couldn't _stand_ it. All he could smell was Edward, the scent he'd inhaled when he'd walked into the room, leant over the desk to glare at him -

He gasped and clutched at the sheets, and the world went white for a moment. Then just like that, it was gone, not even a few embers left. Roy examined himself, feeling like an outside observer, and felt slightly disgusted. He wasn't an _animal._ He didn't rut on the sheets like a wild dog -

\- except, he just had. So much for his composure. At least nobody ever had to know.

* * *

The boy was due back in three hours. Mustang spent those three hours staring at his desk, trying to organize his thoughts.

_He's not human._

_How is it we know that?_ It was little things, little, uncomfortable things -

_Those aren't facts._

Last night, that had been – just a midnight delusion, that was all, and it certainly wasn't the first time he'd found himself sweating through his sheets.

_First time you did it half in a stupor, drunken and bewitched and consumed with lust -_

_He's not human._

Maybe he was just a kid with a speech disorder. Maybe it was just cruelty that made them all believe something that couldn't be true.

_Maybe._

Mustang closed his eyes, and his thoughts were drawn inexorably back to the images he'd filled his head with the previous night. The boy – _Edward –_ sprawled among his sheets, not too mute to gasp and moan like a bitch in heat -

Eyes still half-closed, Mustang's hand fumbled for the handle to his drawer, pulled it open, rummaged inside – he had it here _somewhere -_

The boy had left a glove here, once. An extra had slipped from his coat pocket, and Mustang had kept it, meaning to give it back and never quite remembering. It had been in his drawer for a while, but – he pressed it to his face, inhaling – not too long for it to lose its scent.

The glove still pressed to his face, Mustang unbuttoned his trousers, sliding his hand inside and wrapping his fingers tightly around his cock. He leant his forehead on the desk, scent of pine wood mingling with and overpowered by the boy's aroma, woven into the fabric of the white cotton glove. His hips pushed up against his hand.

Dimly, he remembered that the door wasn't locked, but he couldn't move – he couldn't _stop. I need him I need him I need him -_

His waistband was too tight – he needed more room. He unbuttoned his trousers, pulling himself out with shaking fingers and leaving a trail of pre-cum over the pristine blue of his uniform. _I could fuck him in here... if I locked the door and covered his mouth nobody would ever know, I could hold him down and make him beg with those beautiful fucking eyes of his..._

If he'd been a little farther gone, he might not have heard the clicking of the doorknob. He managed to catch it at the edge of his hearing, and he sat up abruptly, hiding the glove in his lap and faking a yawn as the boy strode into the room.

Mustang couldn't tell whether or not it had worked. The boy certainly didn't _seem_ to have noticed, but you never really knew where you stood with him. Now he was pacing the room, clearly agitated, hands twisting around each other and in the edges of his red coat -

Genuine concern began to fight with the arousal still flooding Roy's body, and still keeping the glove in his lap, trying to ignore the way his crotch was _begging_ him to touch, to keep _going,_ he managed to stammer out a question. “What's bothering you, Fullmetal?” _Use his title. Keep it impersonal. He's 'the boy', the oddity, your little prodigy. Nothing more._

The boy turned to look at him, and Mustang could see a flash of something despairing in his eyes before a steady mask settled into place over his features. He walked over to the desk, and slid a piece of paper onto the lacquered wood, white-gloved fingers resting on it until the colonel looked down.

 _Mysterious Attacks Devastate Town,_ the headline read, part of the M missing, no doubt left behind on whatever newspaper Fullmetal had torn it from. Mustang glanced up – he was indicated back down to the article with a sharp jerk of the chin. Tearing his eyes away from his subordinate's, he read some more.

It took him only a few moments to realize why the boy had so abruptly thrown it in front of him. “Whatever this is, it isn't human. _Or_ any animal I've ever heard of.”

The boy nodded. A few wisps of hair were escaping from his tight braid, sticking to his sweaty neck, and Roy's hand began to move again of its own accord, fingers pulling the glove against his erection and rubbing the rough fabric up and down.

His mouth moved on autopilot. “I take it you want to hunt this thing down.”

Another nod. Roy tried to move his eyes from the boy's glistening neck, shoulderblade jutting out a little from his jacket. “I suppose it's technically within your pur- purview. Very well.” He tried to control his breath, to keep it even and still. “I don't want you killing it unless necessary. We want to know how these things are made.” The fact that he had the presence of mind to say that, while he was getting closer and closer to the edge, barely out of Fullmetal's range of vision -

The boy took a step towards him, and the scent that had lingered on the glove was filling the room now, powerful and intoxicating and so, _so_ dangerous, but that was part of it all, wasn't it? The rough material of the glove scraped harder against his erection, and Mustang stifled what would have been a _very_ loud moan.

Then, a shiver ran down his spine as he realized that the boy was rounding the corner, slowly but purposefully making his way towards the Colonel. He froze, and tried to come up with some sort of excuse, but his mind went blank, hand still moving slowly along his length as the boy finally came face to face with him, the light from the window reflecting off his burnished hair.

“I-I can explain,” he managed to stutter, recognizing with a dim embarrassment that he hadn't made any move to tuck himself away or hide himself from the boy's sight. He felt so... _exposed._

The boy's face split into a smile, and Mustang felt himself turn red, biting his lip and trying to figure out some way to regain control of the situation. Something – there had to be _something -_

The boy – _Edward,_ moaned the part of him that was winning, the part of him who wanted nothing more than to pull the teenager into his lap and show him _exactly_ what he'd been thinking about, _his name is Edward –_ was standing over him now, and with a firm shove, he pushed Mustang's chair against the wall, settling himself between his superior's spread legs.

“What are you doing?” Mustang whispered, not trusting his voice to go any louder, terrified that somebody would _hear,_ trying to figure out why he wouldn't _stop_ it -

-and Edward's hand closed around him, and any thoughts of stopping him or pushing him away disappeared. The moan he'd been keeping back the entire time finally escaped, but before he could get too loud, Edward's other hand covered his mouth. He could feel the boy's breath on his ear. “Shhh,” he whispered, a note of amusement clear in the vocalization, and all Mustang could manage to do was nod between whimpers. Edward's hand was moving now, and Mustang involuntarily spread his legs wider, breaths coming harder and harder. He thought he'd been hard before – that was nothing, _nothing,_ compared to having the object of his fantasies stroking him, squeezing his cock until he thought he might burst -

All of a sudden, he stopped, and Mustang let out a desperate whine, muffled in the hand still shoved over his lips. He reached down, whether to drag the boy's hand back to his aching cock or to satisfy his ache himself he wasn't sure, but Edward grabbed his wrist and forced it to the wall, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

Mustang tried with the other hand, mostly out of curiosity. The hand left his mouth for a second, only long enough to slam the second wrist against the plaster. Then it returned to cover his lips, Edward's other hand keeping both wrists pinned. He was probably holding them tighter than necessary, considering that Mustang certainly wasn't fighting back, but Mustang couldn't quite find it in himself to mind. _Hurt me some more,_ he wanted to ask, even though it had never occurred to himself before that he'd want something so strange.

The boy was still smiling, eyes glittering in unfathomable entertainment. The hand dropped from Mustang's mouth, and he licked his lips, dry throat still trying to voice something, brain focusing only on the scent filling his world. Then his hand moved back down to Mustang's cock, gloved finger stroking the underside of his shaft then teasing the tip, white precum soaking through the fabric.

“M-more,” Mustang managed to gasp out, keeping his voice low, keenly aware of the people working just outside.

The boy cocked his head, smirking. Mustang's cheeks turned somehow even redder, and he was about to say something else, maybe some denial that he was _quite_ as much at Edward's mercy as it looked, but instead, any protest was smothered by the boy's lips over his own. Hot breath poured into his throat, and the boy's tongue pushed its way deep into his mouth.

The hand on his cock began to move again, tight and fast, bringing him closer and closer – and then, Edward stopped, _again._

Their mouths parted, and Mustang panted, a string of saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Stop _toying_ with me -”

The boy kissed him again, rougher than before, hand squeezing the base of Mustang's tortured cock. After a moment, he pulled back and started again, the increasingly-sensitive skin underneath the white fabric twitching and pulsing with each moment of contact.

Mustang's head fell back against the wall, and he couldn't stop the moans falling from his lips now even if he _tried –_ forget the people outside, forget his dignity, forget anything but this, everything else was _nothing_ -

A few minutes later, the boy stopped again. He released Mustang's wrists, snickering a little as they fell uselessly to his sides.

“Please,” Mustang croaked hoarsely. He didn't want it to stop – not now, not ever. Every time the boy stopped, he'd managed to catch him just on the edge of his orgasm, and now he was going to _walk away?_ “I swear to god, if you leave me like this -”

Edward picked up the glove from the floor that Mustang had been using when he was alone, and pressed it into his curled hand. Then, taking Mustang's wrist with a grip that was, again, a little bit too firm, he pulled it to the colonel's erection, giving the older man a teasing look through the strands of gold hanging over his face.

Mustang closed his fingers around himself, the rasp of the glove encircling him again, and met the boy's look with one of his own. He glanced downward, and smirked even as another moan left him, his own fingers driving him closer to the climax he'd been denied so many times already – he could see his subordinate was enjoying himself too, and only Edward's orders, non-verbal but clear nonetheless, stopped him from reaching out to touch.

It wasn't long before he felt himself careening over the edge, and his eyes fluttered closed as he took in the scent that was overwhelming him. He opened his mouth, almost ready to _scream_ the name he so rarely used – and the hand appeared again, covering his mouth and silencing the scream before it could leave him. He came so hard that he thought he'd gone blind, fingers of his other hand digging into Ed's arm, and _christ_ -

Slowly, his vision cleared again, and through his eyelashes, blurred by drops of sweats and tears of frustration, the boy ( _Edward, don't ever call him something so simple again, his name is Edward_ ) was a haze of gold and red. Mustang leant forward, pressing his forehead into Edward's chest, struggling to catch his breath.

Edward entertained him for a few moments, fingers stroking his hair and down to the back of his neck. Then he took a handful of hair, gently but forcefully pulling Mustang's head back until his chin was tilted towards Edward's face. Taking the cumstained glove from his lap, Edward pressed it into Mustang's mouth.

Mustang was so exhausted, so deep in whatever headspace had driven him to do something so filthy in the first place, he couldn't even protest. The thick, coppery taste of his own release met his tongue, and he gave another quiet moan, licking what he could reach of the glove in his mouth clean.

Edward leant down, breath tickling Mustang's ear again. “You make too much noise,” came the raspy, teasing whisper, cracking at the edges.

He turned to leave – Mustang, coherence returning for a moment, pulled the glove out of his mouth, ignoring for the moment the strings of saliva still attaching him to the white cloth. “S-since when have you been able to-”

Edward shrugged and flashed him a toothy grin. “Later, Colonel. I got a chimera to catch.” He said it in the same raspy, destroyed voice, then making sure to close the door behind him, he left.

It was months before Roy Mustang saw him again – and by then, the damage had been done.

 


	2. Notice of Orphaning - Where To Find Me

Hello everyone!

If you're reading this, you'll notice the work has been  **orphaned.** I'm not comfortable with this being associated with my account any longer, but I'd hate to lose all these nice comments and kudos permanently!

I'm still writing adult work, but you'll be able to find that aspect of me at belladonawritings.tumblr.com. That's where the second part of this story will be posted, if I ever finish it, and if you liked this story, I'm sure you'll like my other work there as well!

If you remember my username from before this was orphaned, please respect my privacy! Otherwise, you can contact me through the listed Tumblr account.


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